Annihilation
by Moonlite Knight
Summary: Alex's mission was simply to infiltrate and gather information about the group of terrorists that were blowing up half of Europe. No one knew this would ended up revealing the existence of a magical society, a world that was trying to kill them all.


_Disclaimer: I own neither Alex Rider nor Harry Potter. _

**Annihilation**

Prologue

**ANOTHER GASLINE EXPLOSION: Are They Really Accidents?**

That was the headline that graced the cover of just about every newspaper, magazine, and, with a few dramatized alternations, tabloid that lined the newsstands that Alex passed on his way home from school. Businessmen, housewives, students, and everyone in between wandered to and fro the newsstands to get their own copy of the latest disaster to have befallen Europe.

Alex Rider, however, was excluded from that group. He had more pressing matters to deal with at the moment.

He continued walking down the block, past the crowded newsstand, in a half slouch typical to boys his age, taking care not to move to fast or too slow. It was as he reached the corner that he felt, not for the first time that day, the prick of a gaze on hisback. He causally glanced behind him. As he had expected, there was nothing there. There had been nothing there the last dozen or so times he checked.

Ever since Alex had stepped outside the school gates that afternoon, he had been unable to shake the sensation of being watched. The feeling had only strengthened as he and Tom parted ways, and Alex had continued on his way home alone.

Alex knew that all he had to do to goad his stalkers into revealing themselves was to step into a deserted alley. But he wasn't suicidal enough to try that. He had yet to figure out if the eyes were harmful or not and that was not the best way to find out. Either way, his shadowers would reveal themselves, sooner or later. Alex hoped it'd be sooner, he was really getting tired of walking in circles.

Apparently, his stalkers agreed.

"Alex Rider?"

Alex eyed the man approaching critically. With his neat, gray business suit, and relatively amiable expression, he didn't have the classic appearance of a goon, but then again, most henchmen attacked first and questioned later. "Sorry, you've got the wrong guy."

He stepped off the curb, and strode purposely around the man. He took care not to have his back entirely to him, so when the man grabbed for him, he was ready. He sidestepped the hand and smashed the heel of his foot into the man right knee. The man fell with a strangled shout.

He was about to deliver another kick, this time to the head to knock the man out, but before it could connect, a cloth reeking of chemicals was shoved into his face. Damn, he should have known they were traveling in pairs.

Alex woke up, alone, in an office. He recognized the owner of the office immediately, he'd spent enough time in there to not. He leaned back in his hard, uncomfortable chair and made a very obscene hand gesture in the direction that he knew contained a hidden camera. He didn't have to wait long.

The door opened about five minutes later and in walked Mrs. Jones. Her arrival wasn't surprising. What was surprising was the fact that she was alone.

"Where's Blunt?" He questioned before she could so much as say hello.

"He had" she paused, clearly searching for an excuse to offer him. "…other business to attend to. He asked me to brief you."

"Really? He had something more important to do than greeting the person he ordered to be kidnapped?" Alex leaned back in his chair, balancing on its rear two legs.

Mrs. Jones frowned. "You weren't kidnapped, Alex."

"In most countries, being knocked out and dragged somewhere against your will counts as being kidnapped." Alex pointed out.

"I apologize," Mrs. Jones sighed as she took across from him. "But we really needed to talk to you."

"And you couldn't have just telephoned?" Alex asked incredulously. He let the chair fall forward so that all four legs touched the ground. "How about sent an email? A text? A postcard?"

"Would you have replied if we had?" She said pointedly.

"No." Alex didn't even bother with lying. They both knew he wouldn't have.

"There really isn't any time for us to waste," Mrs. Jones insisted. "We—"

"Whatever it is, the answer is no." Alex stated, standing up. "Can I leave now?"

"Alex, please sit down."

Alex would have stayed standing, just to spite her, if it weren't for the fact that the room had started spinning.

"What did you drug me with?" he demanded, sitting down and trying to clear his head.

Mrs. Jones frowned. "Nothing that should have any lasting effects," she assured him.

"Well that makes it so much better." Alex muttered, massaging his suddenly aching head. "Just get on with whatever you kidnapped me here for."

"Have you been keeping up with the events in the news these past few months?" she questioned.

"No, I've been too busy cleaning up other people's messes."

Mrs. Jones frowned, unsure if he was being sarcastic or not. "Well, you must have noticed, or at least heard about, the abnormal numbers of accidents that have occurred recently."

Alex rolled his eyes but didn't say anything.

Of course he had noticed the oddly high amounts of accidents being reported on the news every day. Everyone had. Crime had risen for the few months to almost frightening heights. People were dying left, right. Streets were being torn apart by seemingly faulty gas lines. Entire homes were somehow being flattened. There had been a lot of speculation that someone, or a group of someones, were behind all these events. But there was no proof, and all authorities had denied the claims.

Alex was unsurprised to learn they had lied.

"You've found the person responsible for the 'accidents'?" he asked, removing his hand from his head. His headache had dulled to a more bearable level.

"Not exactly," She hedged. "We know its terrorist group."

Alex waited for her to continue.

"And?" he prompted when she failed to do so.

"That's all we know so far." she admitted reluctantly.

"What happened to agent who first got saddled with this case?" he asked.

"We had two agents assigned to this case, but we lost contact last week." Mrs. Jones said. "We…don't know what condition they are in now, but they sent us a location before just before we lost contact."

"So are you going to tell me why you want to send a _teenager_ to the place where you lost two trained, adult agents?"

There was seriously something wrong with the people who worked in this 'bank.' Not for the first time, Alex wondered if one of the requirements of being accepted was having no conscience.

"The owner of the home has a son your age and—"

He cut her off. "I repeat. No."

"Alex, please," To Alex's surprise, Mrs. Jones leaned over the table and took his hand in her own. "These people are taking innocent _lives_. You can't tell me that you don't feel any obligation not to do something about it."

Alex jerked his hand free. "The only obligation I have is getting home on time. And I've already failed on that, thanks to you people."

Mrs. Jones stood up, her lips thin. "Alright."

For one brief second, Alex thought that she was actually going to let him walk out of the office, away from all this. The next second though, he was chiding himself for his idiocy. Instead of unlocking the door and motioning stiffly for him to get out, Mrs. Jones instead went to the bookshelf and pulled out a thick, overstuffed file. She placed it on the table in front of Alex.

The teen eyed it warily. "What's this?"

"That is every gas explosion, collapsed bridge, brutal homicide, mysterious drowning, unexplained family suicide, and freak accident that has occurred in Europe since last June."

Alex's mouth went dry. "Are you trying to say that they were _all_ caused by this one terrorist group?"

The file was easily five inches thick. Alex did not even want to think of the number of individual cases it contained. Or the number of people killed.

"Yes." She sat down and began pulling out the contents of the file. She placed them in neat rows in front of Alex, angled so that he could read them. "Alex, I wouldn't be trying so hard to convince you to help if we weren't desperate. They haven't given us any indication or demands to let us know what they want. We have no idea where they'll strike next or who their next victim is. It's as though they're just…killing for the sport."

Alex kept his gaze fixed on the old, cutout newspaper articles that were slowing covering the wooden surface of the table. He knew she was trying to manipulate him by drawing on his sympathy. He knew that he should avoid looking at the papers at all costs. But he couldn't help it. He recognized over half of the headlines. Some of the incidents in them had taken place not too far from here.

"We really need your help. Please."

One headline jumped out at him, reining in his attention, **FREAK ACCIDENT CLAIMS OVER THIRTY SCHOOL CHILDREN. **He had read that particular article last month, when the incident had occurred, but he experienced the same numb shock that he had the first time he had read it. Half the school had been completely burnt to the ground. The only reason the death toll wasn't higher was because the incident had occurred on a Saturday. The football team had been practicing that day.

Alex had played against all of those boys last year, and had even formed brief friendships with a few.

He raised his eyes and finally met Mrs. Jones' pleading gaze. "What do I have to do?"

By the end of the week, Alex would be regretting not simply getting up and walking out of that office.

}{

_Faint whispers of light slipped into the room from the tiny cracks in the walls, the ceiling, under the sole door, but even they could not entirely smother the shadows. Human eyes were of little use in this amount of darkness. _

_That suited the cloaked figures surrounding the cowering couple just fine. _

_After all, screams were more succulent in the shadows. _


End file.
